From Mini Cooper,with love
by SolatienRealms
Summary: Arthur Kirkland's in big trouble.When hunting for the contact number of Guinness World Records while driving at 40m/h,he nearly ran over a man and now the said man has Amnesia. A few streets away,Gilbert and Antonio are searching for their friend Francis who left their shared apartment but never came back. And the missing man only has Luck, Arthur and a Mini Cooper to blame.
1. The night which started it all

_**~~Chapter 1: The night which started it all~~**_

"Hey Francis, you still dating that creepy Belarusian?"

Francis looked up from behind the novel he _had_ been reading peacefully. A pair of red eyes met him. Great. Gilbert still hadn't grasped the concept of 'Personal Space.' And knowing the German, he never will.

"Her name is Natalya." After a second he added in a lower tone, "And don't call her creepy she might hear you."

"Look Amigo, you need to get a better girlfriend."

The two men turned to their right and spotted Antonio eating a Churro while sitting lazily by the bay window.

"Hey Dummkopf, we had a share and care policy didn't we? Share the éclair."

Antonio grinned as he swallowed the rest of the sweet treat, "It's a Churro."

Gilbert looked at the traitor, his jaw open wide. How dare he?

"Give that Back, you greedy, Spanish Tomato."

Antonio grinned at the German. "But I already ate it."

"I don't give a damn. Now give that Back."

Francis sighed as he saw Gilbert shake Antonio. His friends meant the world to him but it still didn't erase the fact that sometimes he seriously considers selling them off to Ivan.

He stood up and walked out of the room, he desperately needed to finish reading the book. He had to return it to the library the next day. He pulled on his coat, why should he lie to himself? One of the main reasons he was going out was because he knew that his friend will try to discuss about his love life and that is something he will like to avoid. Thank you very much.

He stepped out into the cold night air. He took a deep breath and found himself smiling. Contrary to popular belief, he actually loved night time for another reason and not what everyone usually thinks it to be. Everything seemed and smelt fresher. There were not many vehicles going about and most importantly not many people either. It was the only part of a day in which he could truly feel alone. Like the world spun only for him, Francis Bonnefoy. He wasn't just another person on earth. He meant something.

He walked quietly down the road. He wanted to go the park where he could read the book without any interference, where he could drown himself in pages and pages of ink in a world different to his own, away from his friends and away from Natalya.

Natalya… Ivan Braginsky's younger sister. She was…different. In more ways than one-

She was the only woman in her twenties who wore long gowns and had a large bow the size of her head pinned neatly on her hair.

She didn't talk much and when she did talk, it was always about Ivan.

She hated Francis.

The only reason she was dating him was because- as quoted- "One day my brother would accept my love and become one with me. You are there to throw Alfred off my scent when I snatch my love from his arms."

He had dated seventeen girls before her and was known as the city playboy. A reputation he wanted to shake off by dating her for five months and twelve days as of today; yes he has been counting.

She was handy with a knife.

She scared him to death and beyond.

He pulled his coat on tighter. Everyone he knew had told him to get his act together and date someone seriously, that was right before he started dating Natalya. Now they wanted him to break up with her. He sometimes couldn't understand it. What did they want him to do? When he was single they encouraged him to get it on with more people, when he was dating many girls they wanted him to be in a serious relationship, now that he was in a serious relationship, they wanted him to break up with the girl. Love was complicated but sometimes friendship was even more.

He spotted a homeless man shivering on the pavement. The weather was cold not one meant for a man to be outside in without even a jacket. He didn't think about it when he did it, it was sympathy for the man which led him to remove his jacket and drape it around the man's shoulders. The man smiled graciously, Francis in return shook his head and smiled at the man before standing up and making his way to the park. But the more distance he travelled away from the man, the more curious he became.

Was the man an orphan? Did he not have families or friends? He looked behind but he had come a long way thus he couldn't see the homeless man. He felt his heart drop. He would have liked to speak to him, give an ear to what he had to say. Because if he could say something with certainty, it was this-everyone had a story to say; their life, their dreams, their fears- It might seem ordinary but it isn't. He knew this ever since he was little. Gilbert, Antonio, Dad, Mom, the other Dad, his siblings. All of them had a story to say; sometimes joyous, sometimes heart wrenching but always real and interesting.

"Never judge a book by its cover," his mom would say quoting someone else's words. But she was right and so was the one who said it originally. Most of the books he read had dull, uninteresting covers but the story within the pages was nothing short of magical. And that's how people are too. Sometimes the dullest of them would have the best stories to say.

He smiled as he walked down the road. There was an intersection coming up. He crossed it with ease. He could see the park just a few feet away, he grinned, he could finally read the book. He could have borrowed two books from the library but he knew he didn't have the time to read them. Not with Natalya showing him her extensive knife collection every week. She buys new ones frequently, additions to her little family she calls them. She lied. It wasn't little. But her sister had told him that Ivan had a bigger collection of lead pipes, ropes and chains in the basement. He had made it a point afterwards to never visit the basement. Ever.

Anyway returning back to the topic of library, he never got late to return books-which was why he had to finish reading this one- but he was quite notorious in the past for losing his library cards, now he kept them safely in his wallet.

He stopped walking. His wallet. Merde! It was in his jacket. The jacket he gave to the homeless man. His eyes widened as he swore out loud before running back.

When Francis said that dull people usually had the most interesting things to say he was right. And Arthur Kirkland was going to have plenty to say.

Arthur drove along the road at nearly 40 m/h. He had a rough day at work. A very rough day. The headmaster of the elementary school in which he worked had called him in to talk about the S bomb he dropped in class. After an hour of lecturing he had finally been sent back with a warning; cuss again and he is out of the school. It was a splendid warning which made him even more edgy than usual. Vash Zwingli who teaches Mathematics was kind enough to tell him that he must consult the Guinness book of world records because he certainly must have broken a world record for most profanity used in a minute. It wasn't funny to Arthur but who knows might be true. And if he had, Mr. Edelstein could stick Arthur's resignation letter up his own arse because Arthur would be famous. What was the Guinness record's contact number anyway because a world record is about to be broken, bitches.

It was an empty road so Arthur took his eyes off for just a few seconds while he hunted on his phone's internet for the contact number. Big mistake because when he looked up again he was five seconds away from pancaking a blonde to the road. He stomped his foot on the break and swore "Fuck!"

Francis turned and stared at the oncoming mini cooper before opening his mouth and muttering "Merde."

Four minutes later an ambulance raced to little Columbia Street after nurses at the Hetalia Hospital got an astonishing call.

"Bull Fucking Shit, what the Fuck is wrong with this hell hole? Bloody Wanker. Fucking Prat. Fuck Edelstein. Fuck Zwingly and Fuck Everybody Because I just Fucking ran my bloody Fucking Car over a Fucking Moron. "


	2. 15mh to 20mh is not deadly!

_**~~Chapter 2: 15m/h to 20m/h is not deadly!~~**_

Arthur Hated Hospitals. Ever since he was a little kid, he hated them. And with good reason.

They were big. Like so big you could fit all of Ludwig's no nos in here with Ivan's unmentionables and you will still have plenty of space.

Everything has to be white. From the walls to the coats and the fucking curtains. White. Like seriously don't the wankers know that there are others colours out there too? Like blue, green or fucking pink. If he gets hold of a paint can, he will paint the whole bloody hospital pink just like his roommate Felix did to their shared bathroom. It taught Arthur to never take too long in the shower ever again. And when Arthur paints this hell hole pink, it will teach them to never use white again ever.

And the smell. Oh god the smell. It's so horrible. He didn't want to linger about this any further.

Oh and he forgot his mom. She is a surgeon here. She was supposed to be splendid at what she did but well-

"Arthur, you good for nothing Dickwad. Why the hell did you run your fucking car over that man?"

All the people around them stared at the woman who entered the room. She was beautiful. She had blonde hair messily tied up in a bun, a beautiful face even with those gigantic eyebrows and a slim but quite muscled figure. But it was the eyes that drew everyone's attention; a pair of angry green eyes the colour of ivy on a stormy day- oh nearly forgot- and the scalpel she was carrying on her right hand.

"Arthur you better start explaining what happened moron!"

Arthur glared at his mother. She was a tough woman. She had brought up four boys-all the rough and tumble variety-so he knew just what she was capable of. It was no secret that in her marriage, she held the whip.

The other part of her marriage came into the waiting room with a smile.

"Arthur," his father said with a smile, "The man you ran over with your car is stitched up all right. Freda who is just magnificent at her job saved him. He could have died you know darling."

Arthur stared at his father, "Died? What are you talking about?" he stood up to his full height-an inch shorter than his father-and glared. His father quivered and moved behind. "I reduced my speed dad. When I saw the fucker in front of my car I slammed on the breaks. I must have hit him with about 15 to 20m/h. At the most the douchebag must have got a fracture. There is no fucking way he could have died!" Arthur screeched. His dad yelped and hid behind his wife who just muttered, "Idiots."

She gripped Arthur with her hands and stared at him. "Look young man, I want to know why you didn't see him when he first crossed the intersection."

Arthur swallowed. Freda Kirkland was known for her temper, one that would certainly flare up if she knew that her son didn't notice the man because he was too busy finding the contact number of Guinness world records. So Arthur didn't say a word. Better safe than sorry.

Freda was about to ask him again when a nurse came to her. "Dr. Kirkland, John Doe has been transferred to ward 3-c."

She nodded at the nurse before dragging Arthur along to the ward.

"Why are you taking me there?" Arthur asked loudly. He was met with a firm stare.

"You nearly killed him." Arthur rolled his eyes. There she goes again.

They walked past countless rooms until they reached a big door. Freda pushed it open and looked around the ward until she spotted him.

"There he is."

Arthur stopped walking when his mom pointed to a bed not much further away. He felt his mouth go dry. This was bad. Nasty even. To see the man you nearly ki- no he was driving at 20m/h when he hit- he pinched his own arm to stop that thought. It was wrong of him to think like that, coming up with excuses for his actions even in his own thoughts, that's not right (Though in public it's all right). He did this. Arthur Kirkland did this. All of this is his fault… and stupid Edelstein's.

He slowly walked over to the bed and looked at the man lying on it. He had blonde hair that fell across his face shielding the plasters on the fair skin. He looked quite pale. Arthur wondered whether the man was alive at all, a thought which was confirmed by the steady movement of his chest and the beeping of the machine next to him. Arthur sighed in relief. Not dead. That was great news. Now maybe the guy could wake up and forgive Arthur for nearly making his next home a grave.

"Arthur, do you know who he is?" his father asked gently. The blonde shook his head and just stared at the man. Arthur reached his hand out to stroke the man's head, a gesture which was stopped by his mom. "You might not want to do that. He bruised his head quite badly."

Arthur's mouth formed an 'Oh' before closing again.

"So when will he wake up?" Arthur asked as he studied the man's face.

"He should anytime now." Arthur nodded in understanding before bending down to get a closer look. The man had a good jaw line with a trace of stubble on it. And his lips were quite pale. Not unexpected as he just came out of OPD. Arthur traced his finger down the man's nose tentatively. He had a plaster neatly pasted on it. Arthur swallowed. It must have been a good looking nose, thin and long with just a bit of turn and now courtesy of Arthur and his Mini cooper, it's broken.

His Mom and Dad stared from behind. Why was their son groping the injured man's face?

Arthur, however carried on, he looked at the eyelashes. Long and nice, curling upwards, they moved revealing-Arthur was spell bounded by what he saw- beautiful blue eyes, the colour of the vast ocean underneath a sky with just a few clouds-just amazing.

"Excusez-moi? Why are you so close?"

Arthur stared and stared and stared. He's awake. And French.

"Shit."

Arthur straightened up and glared at the Frenchman. "You seem fine. Good. I am leaving." He turned and nearly walked away but stopped when the Frenchman asked, "Who are you Monsieur?"

Arthur turned and replied quite curtly because he was still embarrassed by what had happened a while before (it's not the car thing) and plus he was not one to apologise. "Arthur Kirkland."

"Okay Arthur." He said with an accent which ticked Arthur off. "Do you know why I am here?"

Freda smiled as she walked over to the man. "He hit you with his car but you are all right."

Arthur glared at his mom. She never lost an opportunity to humiliate her sons or hit them. 'Tough love', she called it. Her children had other more colourful words to describe it.

The Frenchman was stunned. Arthur hit him with his car? "But how?"

"Well quite simple really," Edgar Kirkland replied. "You were crossing the intersection like a careful civilized man and he hit you with his car. Anyway tell me young man, what is your name?"

The blue eyes knitted in frustration trying to remember. He then looked up at the three Kirklands and sealed Arthur's fate with his next words.

"I can't remember."


	3. Not dead but screwed anyway

_**~~Chapter 3: Not dead but screwed anyway~~**_

"_I don't remember."_

Arthur looked at the door ahead of him as the damned words echoed in his mind again. It turns out 15m/h cannot kill a person but it sure as hell can give them amnesia .

He sighed. This day wasn't going very well. If possible, it was sinking even lower with every fucking five minutes. The Frenchman would take him to court for the whole thing and knowing his mom, she would come in as a witness for the whole ordeal and without a doubt he would be sent to lament about his stupid life in a mucky prison cell. He probably deserves it.

He could see people coming out after seeing other doctors and found himself being curious. Why were they taking so long? Was it something serious? Did the Frenchman have severe brain damage? Was that why he couldn't remember a thing? How would it be to live a life without any past memories? Probably horrid. And Arthur had caused it all.

He looked up at the sound of the door opening. His mom's grim face met him. Followed by his dad's sorrowful face and the Frenchman who looked quite taken aback. This is it then. The police must be on their way too. Good. Arthur stood upright. He will surrender to the coppers like a dutiful citizen and when he is executed for his crime, he will not cry or beg for life because he knows that one should always pay for their misdeeds. He had practiced this so many times on others. When Alfred had stolen his beloved tea set for fun, Arthur had burnt Alfred's wallet for fun (Of course he didn't burn it with the money and all those cards. He has common sense you know). So yes, when he is under the guillotine, he will smile and sing 'God save the queen'. Patriotism is important even at death.

"Arthur we need to talk."

Arthur smiled at his parents. "Of course Mother and Father. You can say anything you want to me before the coppers come. They will be late- like usual-but it doesn't matter, they will come and I will go. However please do not tell me to stop; I am afraid I simply cannot do so. I have to pay for my crime." Arthur turned to face The Frenchman before continuing, "And I wish to seek forgiveness from you, I have wronged you to a degree beyond human comprehension-"

The Frenchman stared at Arthur (the latter was still talking like a 20th century mannequin) before turning to Freda, "Est-il fou?"

Freda's eyebrows were raised high. "Certainly."

Edgar was the first one to stop Arthur. "What gave you the idea that we called the police on you?"

"And I also wish my property to be given to- wait-what?" Arthur asked with disbelief. "You are not telling the coppers about me?"

Freda sighed. "Of course not, you stupid boy."

Arthur stared at her before insisting. "But I should go to prison."

"Non. That is not necessary. I can walk, I can talk and plus, you are also giving me a place to stay."

"Place to stay?" Arthur looked at the blond man. What was he going on about?

"Look Arthur, this man here has Post-traumatic Amnesia. The doctor said that he will have to take more tests and such to be certain of just how bad it is but one thing is certain; for a period of time he is not going to be able to remember much and it is our duty to care of him." she thought for a second before adding, "Correction-your duty. Take him to your place and give him a lot of rest. Okay?"

Arthur felt a lump in his throat and swallowed. Shit. This was bad. Maybe not very bad. But bad. He looked at the Frenchman who just smiled at him. His blue eyes seemed a bit hazy, like he was in a trance but well it doesn't matter. The man needed rest and Arthur will give him rest. But was it safe to take him out of the hospital?

Like as though she read his mind his mom said, "The doctor told us to take him home. He wasn't severely injured and if complications arise we can bring him back. And he has already been under observation here for a good five hours hasn't he?"

Arthur nodded and looked at the blue eyed blonde. He asked tentatively, "Does it hurt you anywhere?"

The man shook his head. No. Arthur figured they must have pumped a huge amount of pain killers into his blood stream. Hope it didn't have too many side effects.

"Here is the prescription, buy his medicines and then take him home," Freda came closer to Arthur and whispered into his ear, "And make sure you take care of him well, douchebag. He just got you out of counting jail bars."

"Okay, Hag."

"The love between Mother and son," Edgar said to The Frenchman with a smile, "Isn't it beautiful?"

The blond didn't know what to say. Arthur and Mrs. Kirkland didn't look very loving judging by Arthur's sneer and her glare.

Twenty minutes later, Arthur was walking out of the hospital with the blond following close behind. "I hate that bitch." Arthur said as he walked to the parking lot.

"Who your mother, Arthur?"

Arthur turned around and glared at the Frenchman. "Stop pronouncing my name like that!"

The Frenchman looked at him puzzled, "Like what, Arthur?"

"Like that."

"What?" he stopped and narrowed his eyebrows, "Aarrthurr, I am correct oui?"

Arthur positively glowered. "No you are not Wanker, you are stretching the 'Ar' and the 'r'. Don't butcher my name. My father named me after King Arthur of Camelot. His favourite book. So don't you dare mispronounce it you stupid frog. If you do it I'll shove your Bourne legacy up your arse."

"Come again," the blond said innocently. "My Bourne Legacy?"

"Yes. The stupid book you had in your hand when-look I am trying to be nice to you. So don't make me angry. I am not nice when I am angry." Arthur explained before turning around and walking to the mini cooper. It was still pristine and polished. No one would believe he hit a man with it.

The Frenchman walked over and looked at the car. "So this is the car?" the 'nearly ran me over with' hung in the air but Arthur could hear it clearly. Not that surprising as Arthur has an imagination just as colourful as his language. Very vibrant.

He stared at the car and felt something weird in his stomach. He didn't feel like driving. Not today and who knows probably never again. He looked at the Frenchman. "Let's catch a taxi."

It was a terrible idea. Absolutely awful. They hadn't been able to catch a taxi for god knows how long. And Arthur had started to lose it. And our beloved Frenchman, he really didn't know what to do. He has seen Arthur scream "Taxi" and when that failed, give loud shrill whistles to the upcoming cabs which still refused to stop and then he had done a weird ritual. He had pulled out a book and a cloak from thin air (An amazing magic trick he would like to learn it if Arthur would be willing to teach him) and then had promptly started saying something that sounded creepy like as though he was summoning a devil. The young blond had been frightened to such extent that when a car pulled up next to them and a kind old woman offered them a ride. He was certain she was a devil and had refused to climb into the car. Arthur after trying to coax him in twice had screamed "Fuck this shit!" before forcefully pushing him inside.

Another terrible idea as the blond had squeezed himself to the corner and had prayed so loudly through the entire journey that Arthur's ears were ringing and the nice old woman was no longer nice. She had dropped Arthur off at his apartment (Well the correct word would be kicked them out of the car) and had driven away in a hurry swearing that she would never ever give a ride to people, especially if they were standing outside a hospital in the middle of the night looking forlorn and reading a bible.

Arthur kept his 'Book of Curses' inside his coat carefully before walking into the apartment building. The other followed albeit hesitantly. The building wasn't luxurious but it wasn't very old either. There were plants lining up the wall, a couple of paintings and an elevator, the latter was a blessing as the Frenchman's legs had started to hurt. And when they were inside he was quite surprised when he saw the mirror. His face had about three plasters neatly pasted on his skin. One on his forehead, another his nose and the last one was on his jaw. His lips were pale but were relatively unharmed. His arm was in a sling. He knew that of course. He touched the top of his head and gently pressed. No pain. Weird. It should hurt right, after all they said that he must have had a concussion not severe but one never the less, however it didn't hurt one bit.

Arthur looked at the man and couldn't help wondering what was going through his head. It must be something along the lines of how well Arthur ruined his face. Arthur bit his lip. He really messed up.

When the elevator doors opened, Arthur walked out and held the door open so that the other man could walk out. An action noticed by the Frenchman who smiled at him gratefully. Arthur didn't respond but just unlocked the apartment door with his spare key.

"Look, I share this room with my friend Felix. If you know what's good for you, you will not under any circumstance insult him. If you do I will make you regret your entire life. Are we clear?"

The Frenchman nodded. He quite didn't understand the threat though. It wasn't like he could remember his life to regret it.

Arthur opened the door for the man and once he went inside, followed him in. He didn't notice the man freeze after a few steps nor did he hear the sounds. So when he switched the lights on, there were three high pitched screams.

Arthur turned around and stared at the Frenchman. He walked forwards to see what the matter was. After all he was pretty certain he heard two other screams excluding the cowardly Frenchman. Once his eyes fell on the other two occupants of the room, he took his words back.

There on the couch lay Felix and his boyfriend Toris. A sheet was draped around them. But it was too clear what had happened. Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath before screaming, "Felix!"

"Look Arthur, if I had known you were coming home, Toris and I would have done that in the room. I thought you must be staying over at your mom's place. After all the cool me has never done something like this before." Felix pushed his hair back and exchanged a glance with Toris before continuing, "Of course I was wrong. I didn't know you had gone out on a date."

Arthur shot a sharp glare at Felix. "He is not my date!"

"Oh," Felix said before smirking at him and eyeing the Frenchman up and down, "A one night stand then."

Arthur blushed from the roots of his hair to the very tip of his nose. The Frenchman just looked puzzled. "What's a one night stand?"

Toris coughed, Arthur saw red. "Look Felix. Take Toris and go to your _room_."

Felix grinned, "Okies. Come Toris, Let's continue in my bedroom."

"Silently." Arthur reminded before grimacing. Felix was so Felix.

The Frenchman looked around confused. Yes he had seen something he sincerely wished he could unsee but with all due respect why was Arthur so tensed. He offered a smile at the Brit which just resulted in him scowling and then sighing before saying, "You can have my bedroom, it's important for you to rest."

The blond followed Arthur to the room which was adequately furnished with a timber bed, a dressing table, a closet and- he stopped himself. Shelves filled with books lined up the left wall. So many books.

Arthur smiled softly when he spotted the Frenchman looking at his little library. "Do you like it?"

The Frenchman turned and smiled with amazement, "It's wonderful."

Arthur found himself staring at the man as for the first time in this crappy day, a real smile lit up that well defined face. His eyes were even twinkling. Adorable.

He looked away when he realized what he had thought. That was just wrong.

"The toilet is behind the door over there. It is a shared bathroom, so knock before you enter if not you might have a repeat of today. And if you want anything else just ask me."

He turned to leave but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder, "but what about you Arthur?'

Arthur could feel the care and worry in his voice. That man was very unusual. Who was so damn nice to the person who knocked them down with a car?

He decided to not turn around as he didn't want another crazy thought to enter his mind. "I'll sleep outside. Just call me if you need anything."

Arthur was about to walk out but then he stopped and fiddled with his coat before pulling a thick book. "The Bourne legacy. You had it with you before." the blond looked at the book confused so Arthur decided to explain, "It's about a man who has amnesia. Oddly appropriate isn't it? Anyway good night."

The Frenchman looked at the Brit as he walked out.

"Good night, Arthur."

As he lay on the bed at night, the Frenchman decided that Arthur was a good man, a great person who had taken him in without complaining. He was like an adorable rabbit; fluffy and all on the outside but brave and courageous inside. He could have just left him on the street and escaped but he didn't. He stayed. And that is all that matters. Yes if Arthur hadn't crashed onto him, he would have all his memories and he would be healthy and all (He would even know his name) but then he might have never met Arthur. And that just feels sad. He was glad he had met Arthur. Very glad indeed. The blonde smiled as he felt his eyes close. That night he slept peacefully for the first time in ages.

Arthur tried to get comfortable while sleeping on a thin mattress in the balcony. He would never sleep on the couch; he might not even sit on it. He tried to sleep but he couldn't. His thoughts came back to the Frenchman in his bedroom. What was his name? Did he have a family? Were they worried about his whereabouts? Was he married? Did he have any children? If so had Arthur just separated a father from his wife and children? A son from his parents? Needless to say, Arthur didn't sleep well that night.

So when he heard a very loud "Where am I?" in the morning Arthur woke up startled before running over to his bedroom. And sure as hell, sitting on the bed was the Frenchman and he looked freaked out.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked gently. Maybe he was feeling a little disoriented or maybe he was feeling pain. The pain killers they gave in the hospital must have worn off by now, duh. He looked at the Frenchman calmly before saying, "Look I will get you your medicines, you will feel better after taking them."

The Frenchman's eyebrows narrowed as he looked at Arthur puzzled.

"Who in the world are you?"

**A/N- Francis is being a little too nice to Arthur because well he isn't himself but that isn't going to last long.**


	4. Francis Bonnefoy?

_**~~Chapter 4: Francis Bonnefoy? ~~**_

Arthur froze in his tracks. What did the Frenchman say?

"Come again."

"Etes-vous pour de vrai? Fine. Who are you?" the Frenchman's voice was laced with irritation. Who won't be when they wake up and find themselves in an unfamiliar place with a man they had never met talking about medicines. The man did look relatively harmless but looks can be deceiving, a lesson he learnt from an unfortunate encounter with Tony.

It took a good couple of seconds for Arthur to get his voice back, his throat had suddenly gone very dry, so when he spoke his voice was rough, "Arthur Kirkland. Look Frog what are you playing at? You know me. We spent most of the night together."

Realization dawned on the other blond. Of course. He was such a fool. Shooting a smile at Arthur who was still glued to the floor near the door, he said with just the right amount of coyness, "I get it now. You don't have to worry, chérie"

He pushed the duvet off of him and tried to stand up. Suddenly pain shot through his leg and his knees gave away before he knew it the Frenchman was tumbling down. Arthur watched in alarm as he ran to hold the Frenchman. A second too late though.

The blond howled in pain as his knee collided with the floor.

"Oh shit. Come on I will help you up." Arthur held onto the Frenchman and gently helped him back onto the bed. "The doctor told you to get rest, so why did you do that you fool?" he chastised.

The Frenchman pushed Arthur back before frowning at him. "I am not a fool and what doctor are you talking about?"

Arthur sighed as he tried to not yell at the man, "Did you lose your memory again? The Neuro physician you met yesterday. The one who told you had Post-traumatic Amnesia."

The Frenchman looked at Arthur with disbelief. "Amnesia, I don't have Amnesia. I am perfectly fine."

Arthur stared at the man, "No you are not, frog. You did not even remember your name yesterday."

"My name. I forgot my name?" the man said seriously doubting Arthur's sanity, "My name is Francis. Francis Bonnefoy".

Arthur blinked. No way. He remembered his name. But then why did he forget everything that happened yesterday? Arthur couldn't understand a thing. He held the bridge of his nose and tried to calm down. Okay, first he better give Francis his medicines and then they better visit the hospital again.

"Look, sit here for a while and I will bring you your medicines."

"What? No I am not taking any medicines, I am fine."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Of course that is why you fell didn't you? Just shut up and drink your medicines wanker."

Francis glared daggers at Arthur before saying very loudly, "Vous êtes fou!"

Arthur just ignored the man so that he could keep his temper and sanity in check. He counted the pills and poured water into a glass before handing them to Francis. The latter turned his face away, his nose pointing to the air. Arthur was tempted-very, very tempted- to break that silly nose off. He was done with this shit.

"Drink your medicines!" Arthur commanded, only to be ignored.

"Drink it!"

"Why should I? They are not mine" Francis wasn't going to have any of those pills. Arthur was clearly insane and he wasn't going to trust him. He would be a fool to do so.

Arthur on the other hand was contemplating shoving the French bastard off the balcony. He could always stage it as an accident. Easy as pie.

"Look," he tried again. "You need to go to the hospital because I am not going to put up with your crap anymore so drink your fucking medicines." This should work, it should. It always did.

"Non."

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "That's the last straw bastard."

He pushed Francis down and held his nose. The blond yelped and opened his mouth, just in time for Arthur to shove the pills into his mouth and pour water down his throat. Francis nearly choked and when Arthur took the glass away, Francis started coughing. His shirt collar was soaked and the pillows were clearly wet however the pills were safely inside Francis. Arthur grinned in triumph and the grin didn't falter even when Francis called him a murderer. Francis swore in French only for Arthur to ignore him and dial Vash's number. If it had taken so long to get the Frenchman to take his pills and shoving the pills inside was Arthur's only option. Then one thing was certain, he would need a gun to get him inside a vehicle.

He wasn't wrong. After Vash agreed to pick them up, he had tried to get Francis to agree to go to the hospital. Not only had Francis objected he had promised to even call the coppers on him. Very considerate. Arthur had tried to threaten the man but it had been futile. In the end they had a spectacular shouting match which resulted in Felix walking in wearing a dress and telling them to shut up as he needed his beauty sleep. He had then winked at Francis before leaving the room. Shockingly, Francis hadn't made a single peep since then. He had however pestered Arthur to tell him more about his roommate. Arthur couldn't quite believe it. Francis had been so nice and caring yesterday but today he was just a prat, an annoying, obnoxious and perverted prat.

Ten minutes later Vash had turned up to take them to the hospital and Francis had thrown a fit again.

"No way in hell am I going to the hospital. If anything you should be the one going there not me" Francis yelled at the top of his voice. "You are plain barking mad!"

"Barking mad? I kept your sorry arse in my apartment, I even gave you my bed. You are right, I am mad for trea-."

"My sorry cul?" Francis interrupted before laughing. Both Vash and Arthur looked at him startled and were quite freaked out by the weird laugh. After ten second of rigorous Ohonhonhon, Francis finally stopped laughing and scowled. "I hate you!"

Arthur snarled, "Well don't you ever be mistaken and assume I love you. Because I hate you too"

Vash glared at the two of them before pulling out a glock and firing at the wall behind the two bickering men.

"The next one will be through your head if you don't get into my SUV now and Arthur I will shoot you too. So go."

Arthur had expected this so he wasn't scared much. Francis on the other hand was quivering and had started praying loudly. Arthur sighed. Not again.

"Look Frog just come with me and get into his SUV and we will be fine. Got it?"

Francis nodded as he walked to the elevator. As the elevator went down, Francis decided to man up and say something to Vash. "You know if you want to shoot someone, you can kill him."

Vash frowned at the man who shrunk away to the corner of the elevator. Needless to say throughout the journey to the hospital Francis was very quiet.

When they arrived at the hospital, the two men got out of the vehicle and saw Vash drive off. Francis sighed in relief before following Arthur into the hospital. He didn't like the uptight Brit one bit but one thing was quite clear, he had contacts and Francis didn't want to meet anyone of them.

When their number was called out Francis was nervous. He had a bad feeling in his chest. An absolutely horrid one. His conscience was telling him to turn and run away but his legs didn't turn, they just continued heading straight, through the door and into a tidy, disinfectant smelling office. "Good morning, Mr. Kirkland and how are you doing?"

"I am doing well, Dr. Adnan. It's about Francis."

The doctor smiled at Francis. "He remembered then?"

Arthur nodded. " But" and he stopped. He didn't quite know how to say it.

"But?" the doctor prompted only to be met with a reply from Francis. "Look this man here is crazy. I think we must have had a one night stand because I woke up in his house and didn't remember how I got there but he insists that I had amnesia and he is looking after me. Which is just crazy. Because let's face it," he added as he pointed to Arthur, "he isn't capable of taking care of someone, I mean he pushed pills down my throat and in addition to that I am fine. I don't need to be looked after by a stranger."

Arthur slapped Francis. Right across his cheek. "Shut up." he turned to face the doctor, "You can see what happened."

The doctor nodded before saying, "I can, however I would appreciate it if you didn't become physical with my patients, Arthur."

He then turned to face Francis. "Francis if you don't mind me asking, can you tell me about yourself?"

The blond shot a glare at Arthur before saying, "I am Francis Bonnefoy. I have lived here in Hetalia for all my life. I live in Berlin Street in an apartment me and my friends rented out and I am not in relationship."

Arthur let out a deep breath. Thank goodness. He hadn't ruined a family.

The doctor nodded and asked, "Tell me about your family?"

"My mère is a French national, her name is Estelle. She moved back to France a year ago with her new husband. My père's name is Maximus Vargas and he lives with his husband Adalbert Beilschmidt in Italy. They went back a few months ago. I have a younger demi-frère, Mathieu from my mom and my other stepdad. What can you say, a large family." He smiled lovingly at the thought of his family. Everyone was so different but they stuck together. That's why he loved them.

Arthur smiled. That is great. He remembers everything. Which means he doesn't have amnesia so Arthur is free. Yes!

The doctor grinned. "You seem to be all well Mr. Bonnefoy but do you remember anything that happened yesterday?"

Francis shook his head. "I must have been drunk Doctor. I can't remember a thing. And only if I was drunk would I find him attractive enough to spend a night with."

Arthur nearly flipped him off. Nearly.

Dr. Adnan smiled at him sympathetically, "You got into an accident when Mr. Kirkland's car hit you at an intersection. You didn't get injured much, you had a wound on your leg, a few bruises and you fractured your arm. It also turned out that you had a concussion. We kept you under observation for five hours before deciding to send you to Mr. Kirkland's place. You didn't remember a single detail from your past Mr. Bonnefoy. You didn't even know who you were. We suspected it to be Post-traumatic amnesia. It had to be. Due to the accident you couldn't recall your past or even crucial details about yourself. And we were right. But the thing is when you have post traumatic amnesia, it is also common to have Anterograde amnesia."

Arthur looked at the doctor curiously as he continued, "You can't form new memories for a temporary time which is why you can't remember anything that happened after the accident. There is nothing to worry. This is a common occurrence. The most important thing is you are alright. You will never remember what happened yesterday but you will remember the past and anything from today onwards too."

Francis quite couldn't believe it. So the cranky, rambunctious Englishman was right all along. He felt a bit guilty for everything that happened in the morning. But then the Englishman had been the one to hit him with his car. So there was no need to ever say sorry. But maybe just maybe he could lodge a complaint against him with the police .

"So Mr. Bonnefoy. I am glad you are feeling better now. So about your injuries, does it hurt anywhere?"

"His leg in the morning." Arthur said immediately. Francis looked on in surprise. Even now after all of this why was Arthur so concerned?

"It hurt him and he fell." Arthur explained to the doctor not realizing that Francis was looking at him.

"Oh. Did he take him medicines before the incident?"

Arthur shook his head. "I got him to have it afterwards."

"Just in case I will get you an anti-bacterial cream. Mr. Bonnefoy you better put it on the wound every night before you go to bed."

Francis turned and stared at the doctor before nodding even though he hadn't listened to what he said.

The doctor wrote the prescription and handed it to Francis. The Frenchman stared at the paper-to be more specific, a part of the paper- before looking at the doctor.

"You got the date wrong." He said simply.

The doctor looked surprised, "I did?"

Francis nodded but before he could give the prescription back, Arthur peeked over to look and was confused.

Neatly written on the top left corner of the page was '24th February 2014'.

Dr. Sadiq Adnan nodded in understanding before asking, "I will change it then, what's the correct date Mr. Bonnefoy?"

Francis smiled at the doctor. He really liked the doctor. He was a nice guy. Not his type though. He replied "I think uhm…22rd February," he thought for a few seconds-he didn't notice the doctor looking at him attentively nor did he see Arthur visibly relax- before saying, "2012".

Arthur's eyes bulged as his heart jumped to his throat. Not again.

**A/N- So if anyone didn't understand what happened with Francis's memory then I will tell you. He has post-traumatic amnesia which occurs after one goes through head trauma. They usually won't remember details about themselves or the past for a temporary time. and though they will be able to move along and live the day, the thing is usually they won't remember what happened on the day of the accident and immediately afterwards ever again. This is because of Anterograde Amnesia- amnesia in which you can't form new memories, i.e. the memories are too weak to be recalled back.**

**Post traumatic amnesia can be of a mixed type too; partly anterograde and partly retrograde. Retrograde amnesia is what we are most familiar with- you forget memories preceding the accident. Childhood years and all will be remembered because with time they become stronger however more recent memories like 6 months before the accident or 2 years before the accident will be forgotten. Because they are not very strong. They can be recalled with time and using things like photographs and such but they will take time and sometimes they just won't remember them.**

**I hope you understood what's happening. And guys, thanks for the immense response this story has gotten. I will publish chapter 5 soon. Thank you.**


	5. Truth Hurts

_**~~Chapter 5- Truth Hurts.~~**_

Dr. Adnan smiled sympathetically at Francis. "Mr. Bonnefoy, how sure are you?"

Francis eyed the doctor suspiciously, what sort of a question is that? He was certain. Of course he was. He remembered throwing a massive party to celebrate Antonio and Lovino's first anniversary. It had gone pretty well, booze and beautiful girls, everything you need for a party was there. And the duo (Antonio had disappeared with his Italian potty mouth about an hour into the party) had danced away their night. Well they might have except their father and step-dad took right that moment to pay a surprise visit. And what a surprise it was. Gilbert and Francis had been in the middle of a belly dancing routine with some cute girls. And his parents had apparently got the best view. For the first time in his life Francis had seen Adalbert faint. It would have been hilarious if in the very next day Adalbert hadn't grounded them. He was such a killjoy. That was one of the last memories he had so that meant it happened yesterday-no-the day before yesterday. He shouldn't forget the accident. "I am absolutely certain."

Dr. Adnan nodded before looking straight at Francis as he said, "Today is the 24th of February 2014." Seeing Francis ready to argue, he took his iphone out and showed him the date.

Francis glared at the doctor. He was such a liar. He must have set the phone up. How dare he try to fool Francis? What did the doctor think of him as? A fool? No way in hell was he going to listen to this crap. How could it be 24th February 2014? Was it like what two years fast forward or something?

Francis stood up to leave. "You're wrong. How can it even be 2014? That's just ridiculous." Francis's blue eyes glistened with anger. "I might have lost my memory yesterday but that doesn't make me a fool. So don't treat me like one. How can you even lie like that?"

"Mr. Bonnefoy, you might have Retrograde Amnesia. You forget some of the past but there is nothing to-"

"What the hell? First you say I have some Post-something Amnesia and now you say I have some retro amnesia? I might have believed you the first time but certainly not now."

"Francis." Arthur spoke as he stood up only to be pushed back down by the angry Frenchman. "And you. You started all of this. This is all because of you. I was actually regretting treating you like that in the morning but you know what you deserve every bit of it!" He pushed his index finger onto Arthur's forehead before continuing, "And sign up for Driver's Ed again before you screw someone else's life up too."

Arthur stared at Francis as the Frenchman glared at him and then turned away and left. Francis wasn't wrong. He had fucked up.

"Doctor. Ho-how bad is it?" Arthur's voice was low and shook with guilt.

Dr. Adnan frowned. "If February 2012 is all he can remember. Then it's probably two years of memory loss which is pretty bad. But Mr. Kirkland I am still not certain as to whether he has retrograde amnesia or not. Sometimes maybe he is just disoriented and he doesn't remember the date but the memories are still intact. So it would be very helpful if you could find out whether he remembers his past or not. It's up to you."

Arthur twiddled his fingers as he muttered, "But he hates me."

The doctor looked at him, a bit puzzled. "I am sorry I couldn't hear you."

Arthur looked up and faked a smile. "I will try."

Francis was standing by the gate trying to get hold of a taxi but so far those who had stopped downright refused to let him on when they heard he had no money but will pay them back when he arrives at the destination. Francis tried to not feel gutted. After everything that had happened today you would think someone would be willing enough to give him a ride. Guess not.

An arm held his shoulder making Francis freeze.

"Having a great time hailing a taxi I see."

Francis rolled his eyes. The British arsehole.

"I don't need your help, niaiseur."

Arthur nearly smiled. "That sounds weird."

Francis flipped him off.

"Look Frog. I can catch you a taxi. How about that?"

Francis smiled icily, "I don't need your help. I can get a taxi all by myself."

"Okay then." Arthur leaned against the wall. This could be entertaining.

It was. Francis had tried to stop another four taxis which failed. Probably because now he was flailing his arms and he looked like he had escaped from a asylum. And those taxi drivers who were brave enough to stop drove away when Francis once again said he had no money.

Francis yelled to the sky, "Oh Dieu. Vous avez déjà me mettre en enfer aujourd'hui? Pourquoi ne pouvez-vous au moins me laisser héler un taxi?" (Google translate-Oh God. Have put me in hell today? Why can't you at least let me hail a taxi?)

"Well maybe because he wants me to catch you one."

Francis looked back and glared at the Brit before suddenly smirking. "Très bien. Then go ahead. You take a shot."

Arthur walked forwards as Francis leaned against the wall. Francis was expecting Arthur to go forward and swear his heart off or summon a demon. He stopped. Summon a demon…that's just nonsense. After all how could that happen?

Arthur walked over to the pavement and seeing a taxi gave it a shrill whistle. The taxi pulled to a halt.

"Sir, do you wish to go somewhere?"

Francis rolled his eyes. That was unfair. How could he get one so easily?

Arthur smiled as he opened the door. "Do you want to come?"

Francis wanted to say no but then chances were if he refused he will have to be here outside a hospital for a good deal of hours, sweating profusely as he dehydrated and starved, which didn't sound very appealing. His skin might have to pay the price for his pride. And that is absolutely dreadful.

He stood up as he got into the taxi. "I don't owe you anything."

Arthur smiled. "For the first time since we met frog, I have to say I agree with you."

The car ride had been silent. Arthur didn't know what to say and Francis was too ticked off to say anything. However he did as they turned onto little Madrid Street.

"Look I don't have amnesia. I remember my past. I have not forgotten it. I remembered the address where I live, see? I have not forgotten anything."

Arthur didn't look at Francis. He couldn't.

"Speak something." Francis commanded.

Arthur could see an old lady walking her dog down the street. A few kids playing hop scotch on the pavement. They were all normal. How nice would it be to just to be normal? When the most horrid thing Arthur could do was fuck up a scone and burn his kitchen down. And now after what Arthur had done, Francis had to pay the price. And boy was it enormous.

"I am sorry."

Francis stared at the Brit before turning away. When someone asks for forgiveness you should forgive. That was one of his mantras. He had always followed that but he didn't want to forgive Arthur. At least not for now.

The car pulled to a halt in front of an apartment building in little Berlin street. Francis smiled fondly. Up there in the fourth floor is home where there is neither a crazy Englishman, gun wielding friend of the crazy Englishman nor a sorry excuse for a doctor. He opened the door and stepped out of the taxi. He glanced at Arthur but then quickly turned away.

"Bye, Eyebrows."

Arthur nodded stiffly even though he didn't want Francis to leave. There was a feeling deep down inside of him that told him to not leave Francis. But so far his presence hadn't been very beneficial , if possible it had been the exact opposite.

"Take care, Frog."

The Frenchman nodded as he walked across the street and entered the apartment. Arthur looked on even after the Frenchman had disappeared from view only to be reminded that he has to leave when the taxi driver inquired him whether he wishes to go somewhere.

"Yes. Little London street please."

The taxi moved forwards even though Arthur's eyes were looking wistfully at the building at number 43.

Francis climbed up the stairs, groaning all the way. He had forgotten that there is only a staircase here, now his leg was hurting and he was almost ready to give up. But there were only a few steps more and then it will be home.

He forced himself to walk up the remaining stairs and finally when he reached the door, he smiled thankfully. He made it. He was here. He was home.

He knocked the door and waited for a response. After a few seconds he grew impatient. Where in the world were his best friends? He sighed as he waited for a few more seconds before he knocked on the door again.

"Gilbert! Tony! Open the door!"

He knocked again. Why were they taking so long? His leg was throbbing and even his arm had started to hurt.

"Open the door!" he screamed impatiently.

And then the door opened.

And Francis was staring at the barrel of a gun.

Francis froze in place. Shit. When did Gilbert buy a gun?

His eyes moved upwards and once his eyes met the sharp green eyes, he nearly stopped breathing.

"You." He muttered.

Vash glared at Francis. "How do you know my address?"

"Our Address, Vash." A new voice corrected as a man walked in.

Francis stared at the man's clothes in disbelief. How old were those clothes, probably a century old.

He looked at Francis before smacking his head with rolled up sheets. Music sheets.

"Who are you? And why were you screaming and knocking on our door like a drunk?"

Francis stared at the man while holding his head (That hurt a little). Their door? How could it be their door? It was Francis's apartment.

"You must be wrong, Monsieur. This is my apartment." Francis explained only to be smacked again.

"I have been paying rent here for the last year and a half. This is not your apartment." The man yelled. His temper flaring.

"Non. This is my apartment."

Vash looked at Francis before saying something to his roommate-whose eyebrows rose- and going in.

"Look how about we greet each other first." The brute said eloquently, "My name is Roderich Edelstein."

Francis eyed the man with hostility before saying, "Francis. Francis Bonnefoy."

"And my name is Elizaveta."

The two men turned to their right and there stood a woman holding a frying pan. She smiled at Roderich and glared at Francis.

"You... what are you doing here?" she asked.

Francis shuffled backwards. His luck had been going downhill and now it must be digging itself a tunnel.

"Elizaveta," Francis smiled, "How are you?"

"I am doing much better after I had you and those morons thrown out of the apartment next door."

Francis stared at her. What was she saying?

"You didn't throw us out, we still live here."

She glared at him. "No you don't. When you held that monstrosity of a party there two years ago, I filed a complaint against you lot. You were kicked out of here a week later. What are you doing back here again any way? Did you miss my frying pan?"

Francis shook his head. "Non. Certainement pas."

It was then that something occurred to him. "Two years ago?"

She nodded as she waved her frying pan. "What did you lose your memory?"

But Francis wasn't listening to her. He didn't remember that. None of it. Being kicked out of his own apartment is a big thing and he couldn't remember it. He trembled. Was it true then? He shook his head. No, it can't be. It must be just a memory lapse. That's it. Nothing serious.

He shot a smile at her. "Uhm Elizaveta. When did we move? Do you know the date?"

She smiled at him. "How would I forget? It was the happiest day of my life." Her body simply glowed with happiness as she said, "2nd of March 2012."

2nd of March 2012? That was still a few days away, right? It didn't make sense. And if that day had already passed then- Francis couldn't wrap his head around the whole thing, it was too confusing.

"Elizaveta, what's the date today?" Francis asked already regretting the question because he had a feeling that the answer was going to be the worst he had received so far. Because it was going to confirm something which he didn't want to accept, something which will break apart everything he knew.

"Don't you know the date? Fine it's the 24th of February 2014."

Francis gulped. He looked around the corridor at both Elizaveta and Roderich, the yellow walls, the doorway to his apart- previous apartment. The walls were painted a light blue before. Well it was before someone sprayed graffiti all over it during that party. And there were none of the ornamental trees which someone had lined the wall with when they stayed here. Gibert had once puked into one that was by Elizaveta's doorway. It was done by mistake. He looked around. He was wrong, this wasn't home. This hadn't been for a long time. He felt his chest tighten and his breathing became hoarse.

"Are you all right?" Roderich asked, concern clouding his face.

"Francis?" Elizaveta asked, worried for the man who she didn't like but well there were others she hated more (See Gilbert).

Francis moved towards the stair case and stepped down. Pain shot through his leg. He bit his lip but still continued to walk down the stairs.

"I am fine," he said softly. But he wasn't speaking to them.

"Come on, could you drive faster you bloody wanker!"

The taxi driver was frightened out of his wits. Ever since the man had gotten a call, he had made him turn the car back to go to little Berlin street while swearing at him all the way.

Arthur tried to not scream in frustration. Vash had sounded worried when he called. He had all the reason to. He bit his nail as he looked out of the window. And then he saw him.

Francis was sitting on the pavement with his head buried onto his lap.

Even before the car came to a stop, Arthur jumped out and ran across the street. He tripped on a loose stone and fell down but holding onto the ground he stood up again. Francis. He ran towards the Frenchman.

"Francis!" He yelled trying to catch the Frenchman's attention.

Francis raised his head and turned. He could see Arthur running towards him. Arthur… the only person who knew and in a twisted way cared. He couldn't find the others; his friends, his parents, his sibling, absolutely no one.

Arthur came close but didn't stop instead he wrapped his arms around Francis and held him. The Frenchman was surprised. He hadn't expected that. No he hadn't but- he laid his head on Arthur's shoulder- he realized he needed it.

He didn't have his memories.

He couldn't remember anything that had happened in the past two years. He tried so he knew.

But he had Arthur and the damned Englishman knew him, knew what happened and who knows might help him put his life back together. He wasn't a friend, no one who hits you with a car can be a friend but he was something and that was much better than what he was left with if the man wasn't there…

Nothing.

**A/N- Quite a serious chapter isn't it? But don't worry humour will be around the corner. And by the way, thank you for all the reviews. They always make me smile.**


	6. Missing

_**~~Chapter 6- Missing~~**_

A couple of kilometers away from Berlin Street lies Paris Street. It's a beautiful street with designer fashion stores lining up both sides of the road. Givenchy, Nina Ricci and Van heusen are found side by side. And on the pavement you would find impeccably dressed people from all walks of life making their way to their destinations carrying bags that screamed 'Expensive'. Usually this street is rather spotless. Walls of buildings are painted well, no paint peels to be found and certainly no posters would be seen pasted on them, but today that was not to be seen.

Dozens of posters were pasted on the walls and pillars, even the traffic lights had a poster pasted on them. And as this was so out of routine in the perfect street, it caught the attention of many pedestrians and drivers. One such pedestrian looked at the poster with narrowed eyebrows. A man looked back at him from the poster. His eyes, a twinkling blue and hair that fell down his shoulders in blonde waves; he was definitely a handsome man, someone who would surely be noticed wherever he went so how come there were in bold black letters the word 'MISSING' printed right above his head. He quite couldn't believe his eyes. A man going missing at this day and age was unheard of. And a man who looked like that… impossible.

A hand held his shoulders. The spectator looked behind to see the grave face of another man. His red eyes looked at him with worry and just a bit of hope.

"How can I help you?"

"My name is Gilbert. You were looking at the poster intently, have you seen him before?"

The man shook his head. "I am afraid not. Are you searching for him?"

Gilbert nodded. He saw the man smile at him sympathetically. "Well I hope you will find him."

The man turned and walked away leaving Gilbert looking forlorn and lost. The German reached his hand out and touched the poster. He and Antonio had put the posters up a few minutes ago. With fair reason to do so; Francis hadn't returned that night. He had gone out but hadn't come back. The two friends had been under the impression that he must have gone to Natalya's place but then when in the morning Natalya had called up asking them to tell Francis to drop in as she had something to show him. They realized very quickly that they didn't know where their friend was. They had tried to contact him but that had failed as Francis had left his phone in the apartment. And after contacting some of their friends, the two had come to the conclusion that either Francis had run away or he was in grave danger.

Gilbert sighed. Why did Francis leave? And where had he gone to? Was he safe or was he in danger?

He turned and walked away. Too many questions and absolutely no answers. He looked at the sky that was grey and seemed to be heavy with rain.

A distant memory of a blond laughing in delight as rain fell on him crossed Gilbert's mind.

Rain… Francis loved rain. Gilbert walked down the road, his chest feeling heavy. The question he had been asking for a long time emerging yet again. Where was Francis?

_Gilbert's birthday party- 20__th__ February 2012_

_Got kicked out of his apartment-2__nd__ March 2012 (Can't remember)_

_Design rejected- 11__th__ January 2012_

_Dad called to tell him that he had something important to say, he wanted to say it in person though- 5__th__ January 2012_

"You know this writing down my memories thing seems to be quite unhelpful, eyebrows. I can't remember anything after that party."

Francis sat by the dining table, tapping his pen on the table.

"You do know that you won't start gaining your memories back just because you started writing them down."

Francis sighed as he continued writing on the paper.

"And plus Frog, if you write them down you will know what you remember."

_Arthur hit him with a car-23__nd__ of February 2014_

_Vash nearly shot him- 24__th__ of February 2014_

_Arthur hugged him- 24__th__ of February 2014_

_Roderich, Vash and Elizaveta saw them hug- 24__th__ of February 2014._

_Got a lecture on PDA from Roderich- 24__th__ of February 2014_

"You know Arthur, Roderich sure has a stick up his cul." Francis commented as he stopped writing.

"No. He has a whole forest growing out of there. I am pretty sure that the UN had declared it as a conservation site."

Francis smiled as he left the pen on the floor. He then scrunched his nose. What was that god-awful smell?

He stood up and limped his way to the kitchen just in time to see smoke rise from a pot on the stove.

"Arthur," Francis screamed as he quickly moved forwards and switched the stove off, "how come you didn't notice that whatever was there in the pot was burning?"

Arthur turned and looked at Francis incredulously. "It wasn't burning."

Francis practically glowered. "It was. I saw it."

Arthur looked at the pot which was still emitting smoke and then at Francis. "Well Frog I believe smoke actually adds depth to the flavor of stew."

Francis blinked. He wasn't being serious…or was he?

"Look Arthur. How about I cook and maybe you could sit still on the couch. That way you won't be harming anyone."

"My cooking is not that bad enough to harm someone!"

"You think smoke adds flavor to a stew." Francis pointed out.

"It does add flavor to a stew."

Francis glared daggers at the Brit who was glaring back at him. He finally let up and said sweetly, "Look Mon Cherie, let me cook for you. It's the least I can do after all you are giving me a place to stay. Let me take some of the workload off your back."

Arthur looked at the Frenchman and gave in, "Well when you put it that way, I cannot say no. Go ahead and cook whatever you want but if you break any of my things you will have to buy them back."

Francis grinned as he saw Arthur remove his apron and walk out of the kitchen. Phew that was a close one. In addition to everything he had on his plate. Food poisoning didn't seem very appetizing right now. He looked at the pot and tried to carry it with one hand. After nearly dropping the pan Francis realized that cooking wasn't going to be that easy with his hand in a cast and if he took too long, one thing was certain. Arthur will end up making dinner and only god could save his soul after that.

After fifteen minutes of trying to cook Francis had figured out what his capabilities were right now-

_He couldn't carry heavy objects_

_He couldn't chop vegetables. He was right handed and his left hand (The one that works) cuts them in weird shapes. The carrots he had chopped looked like something that a three year old had cut. All in different sizes and overall, looked unappetizing. _

_He couldn't stir or add ingredients at the same time._

_Arthur's stew was unsalvageable and Francis can't make another._

_Crepes can't be made with a left hand when you're right-handed. They end up looking like oversized donuts flattened by Arthur._

Francis tried to not scream in frustration when his third attempt at making perfectly round crepes failed again. He is a gourmet chef. He can make culinary wonders with just three ingredients but here today, he can't even make a crepe.

"You look like you need help."

Francis turned and looked at Arthur. This was a nightmare. Arthur who for the love of god burns stew seems to have better luck with cooking than Francis does. Whenever he thinks this day couldn't get any worse, it does. It's like fate is telling him, "Look at what I can do to you Francis Bonnefoy. Kesesesesesese."

Arthur came in and bit his lip. "How about I chop up the vegetables and be an assistant to you. Maybe I can learn something."

Francis slowly smiled. "I don't know about that. You seem far too gone to ever learn."

Arthur hit his shoulder, not too hard but enough for Francis to yelp.

"That hurt."

Arthur just shrugged before removing his waist coat and pulling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow.

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Well for one you can throw that into the trashcan." He said pointing at the pot that was still resting on the stove.

Arthur swallowed thickly before walking over to the pot of stew. His stew. The food he cooked. He had to throw it out. He tilted the pot over the rubbish bin and saw the charred remnants of his stew disappear into the depths of the bin. He turned around and looked at Francis pointedly.

"You better know what you're doing."

Francis smiled. "Of course I do Mon imbécile agresseur."

Arthur flipped him off, Francis laughed before turning to the stove.

"Well how about we cook Chicken Cordon Bleu? Arthur could you get me 3 chicken breasts, 3 slices of ham, 3 slices of Swiss cheese, 1 ½ tablespoons of flour, ½ teaspoon of paprika-"

"How about a cup of slow down?" Arthur interrupted as he took out some chicken breasts.

"Touche." Francis took the chicken breasts and holding a knife as well as possible, he tried to cut an inch slit horizontally. The knife slipped and cut in too deep making Francis frown. He tried to continue cutting but found himself cutting diagonally.

"Shall I do it for you?" Arthur asked helpfully only to be shot down.

"I can do it. I don't need help for every single little thing." Francis said, his voice laced with irritation. The knife slid in too deep and Francis was left with two halves of the chicken breast in his hand. Great. Just great.

He kept the pieces aside and took another chicken breast. Maybe if he slowed down a bit and was more careful he could cut it properly. He had to do this. If he can't then… no he can, he _should_. He slowly tried to cut it but once again the knife slipped. A hand wrapped around his own and held the knife.

Francis looked at the pale fingers surprised and then looked at their owner. He swallowed thickly as green eyes looked at him anxiously.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked gently.

Francis wanted to shake his head and say no. He wasn't all right, he wasn't going to be. He can't do anything not even things he had been doing since childhood. He needed help for everything and he hated himself for it. And he-

Arthur held Francis's hand tightly. The knife in the latter's grasp stayed firm. He loosened the grip and the knife fell. Arthur looked at the knife before reaching out and taking it. He inspected the knife before looking straight at Francis and saying,

"Francis, you can have my hand."

The blond stared at Arthur. What? He looked at the knife and at Arthur's hand. His eyes bulged as Arthur raised his hand.

"Wait! Are you out of your mind? Oh Mon Dieu! Do you always do crazy stuff like this? Or are these days an exception? You don't have to cut your hand. Yes my hand is not working very well but you don't have to replace it with yours. Even if you are feeling guilty you still don't have to do it. You know what Arthur, I will forgive you. All right? Just don't chop away your limbs."

Arthur stared at Francis. What was wrong with the frog?

"Why would I amputate my hand?"

Francis blinked. "Well you said I could have your hand. What was I supposed to think?"

Arthur's lips quirked and then opened as he laughed. He bent down and laughed out loud.

Francis glared at the Brit. "What is so funny?"

Arthur looked up and steadied his laughter before grinning at Francis. "Why would I ever do that? You're barmy."

Francis's glare intensified.

"Anyway," Arthur smiled, "What I meant was you could guide my hand along with yours and you can cut the chicken."

Francis's mouth opened in a quiet 'O'. So that is what he meant. He then shook his head.

"I don't know about that Eyebrows." He said uncertainly.

"Come on. At least try." Arthur said as he reached his closed fist out.

Francis breathed in deeply before reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Arthur's hand. It's not like he has another option and well it wouldn't hurt to try.

Arthur smiled and moved towards the chopping board. He grinned as Francis guided his hand towards the piece of meat.

"Let's dissect a chicken." Arthur said with a laugh.

Francis turned and looked at Arthur's face. "Cut a chicken, Mon lapin."

"Well it means the same thing."

Francis grinned. Well it sure does… at least in Arthur's mind.

Francis slowly cut the chicken and found himself cutting it in a neat straight line. He smiled. He could do it. He is not that useless. Arthur smiled as Francis deepened the cut to an inch and looked at Arthur with joy.

"I did it." Seeing Arthur smile back at him, he added, "We did it." His eyes softened but still had that twinkle.

That silly twinkle. The one that made Arthur go all 'aww' when he sees it. It was so adorable and accompanied by that smile, Francis looked absolutely hand-

"Arthur?"

Arthur stared at Francis as the blonde's voice shook him out of his reverie. He quickly turned away.

"There is only one more left, right?" he asked quickly.

"Two." Francis corrected before drawing the chicken. Arthur tried not to look at Francis. The frog probably had an enchantment or something placed upon him. That's why Arthur had swooned twice. But there is no fear. He could easily find a spell for his protection. It was quite simple really. Now where did he leave the book of Spells. Not with the book of curses of course.

Francis tried to not focus on Arthur. The man seemed to be thinking about something which Francis could feel in his guts, wasn't going to be any good. And a bit scary too. He felt a shiver run down his spine but he continued cutting the chicken.

Ten minutes later, there were chicken breasts cooking away on a pan, a salad being prepared by Francis (Arthur had chopped the vegetables) and dishes being loaded onto the dishwasher by Arthur. Once they had completed their chores, the two men sat down for dinner.

Francis grinned at Arthur as the Brit looked at the plate laden with a golden chicken breast.

The Frenchman poured a little sauce on the chicken and looked at Arthur with eyes that held so much excitement, the Brit slowly cut a piece of chicken and looked at it.

"What are you waiting for? Go on, take a bite!" Francis urged.

"All right." Arthur said a bit loudly before bringing the chicken to his mouth and biting in.

Arthur froze. The chicken oozed oodles of flavor and as he chewed he could taste the sauce which was absolutely divine. It had a smooth flavor of cheese and herbs and was that white vine he tasted? Yes it was. Arthur hummed in delight. This is delicious.

Francis looked at Arthur, whose eyes were closed. His face didn't give away much making Francis so nervous that if he could chew his nails, he would.

"So Arthur, How is it?"

Arthur swallowed the chicken and opened his eyes. He looked at Francis before breaking out in a smile. "It tastes divine."

Francis fist pumped the air with his left hand making Arthur smile even wider.

However when Francis was going to tuck in, his smile faded. The Frenchman struggled with the chicken. After all he had to use the same hand to cut the chicken and eat it. Arthur contemplated helping him out but stopped himself. Francis seemed to have plenty of self-esteem and he had already lost quite a bit of it today. Helping him further could do more harm than good.

Francis managed to keep the food on the fork and bit in. He smiled with pleasure before looking at Arthur.

"You know Mon Lapin, you have to agree with me that this tastes much better than whatever you planned on serving."

Arthur flipped him off before saying, "Stew. It's called Stew, frog." But he had to agree this did taste much better than the stew. Not like he was going to say that though.

Later that night, Arthur carried his sleeping bag over to the hall and opened it up. Fluffing up a pillow he placed it down on the bag.

"Are you going to sleep here?"

Arthur stood up and looked at Francis with a quirked eyebrow. "Yes, unless you want to share a bed?"

He saw Francis visibly flinch. "It's okay Arthur, you can sleep here all you want." He turned to go but stopped himself. "Why don't you sleep on the floor in your bedroom? Or the couch."

His eyes narrowed as he saw Arthur's face redden.

"No, it's all right. I will sleep here."

Francis looked around the living room that seemed to have been taken out of the Victorian times and turned to go back to the bedroom. "Suit yourself."

He opened the door to the bedroom and walked in. Noticing the book shelf, he walked towards it and looked at the books. Some looked new and some looked really old. He traced his finger down the spine of a book that seemed to have seen better times and pulled it out. _'A tale of Two cities'._

Francis smiled softly. Paris and London. Just like himself and Arthur. And that was about where the similarities ended. He laughed quietly before putting the book back. Though he liked the book, he didn't want to read it right now. Maybe later.

His eyes moved from one book to another. Sometimes stopping on familiar titles but continuing on nevertheless. However his gaze caught onto a book; an old hardback with pages that had yellowed over time. He pulled the book out gently as a smile grew on his face. _'Les Miserables'. _

He turned the pages softly and then closed the book before taking it to bed with him. It was the only book that he had read over and over again so many times in his past. He had bought the book when he was twelve and wherever he travelled the book went along too. He was certain that the book must be at home. _Home… the place he didn't have a clue about._

What were his friends doing now? His parents? Mattieu? Did they know he was missing? Were they searching for him?

He opened his eyes. Of course they would be searching for him. They love him, right? He opened the book and softly turned a page.

They will find him. He is certain of it. And he would search for them too. He will try to go home. But until then this book was the closest to home he could get.


	7. An unknowingly missed opoortunity

_**~~Chapter 7- An unknowingly missed opportunity~~**_

He didn't know what woke him up. Was it the light that was falling on his face, the pain that was slowly making its way through every limb that had been fated to kiss a car or the feeling that he wasn't at home. Whatever it was, it had him opening his eyes and groaning aloud.

He looked around and saw that nothing had changed since last night. Arthur's bedroom was as normal as it was but… it wasn't his. He spotted a glass of water lying on the side table. Reaching out to take it he noticed that the book he had been reading last night was lying next to the glass and was that a book mark inside the pages? On closer inspection, he figured that yes it was a bookmark. To be more specific, a Doctor who bookmark. He smiled softly. Arthur must have come into the room some time back. He could imagine Arthur taking the book and keeping it aside and tucking him into bed. It was odd especially because he hadn't been tucked into bed for ages but somehow it felt oddly fitting.

He shook his head and drank a bit of water.

He didn't notice the man standing near the doorway and looking into the room. Arthur's green eyes scanned Francis. The Frenchman seemed to be all right. He must probably be in pain though. But that would wear off soon after he takes his medication. He knocked the door lightly and wasn't that surprised to see Francis turn and look at him with eyes open wide. Once he recognized who it was standing by the door his eyes softened and he smiled.

"Oh it's you. Come on in Mon Petit."

Arthur nodded stiffly before walking in and handing Francis a tray.

"I got you some cereal because I had a feeling you wouldn't appreciate my muffins."

Francis smiled. "Well your feeling was certainly right. After all if you could burn a stew then what would you do to a muffin?"

"Just shut up and eat, frog." Arthur said feeling embarrassed because well he could do many things to a muffin but it still doesn't make it any more edible. Quite the opposite really.

Francis tried to get up. "I don't know about your morning habits but I place a lot of importance on my dental hygiene." He slipped and fell, well nearly as Arthur held onto him and said with worry.

"Are you all right?"

"Never been better." Francis said quietly.

With Arthur's help he managed to walk over to the bathroom and brush his teeth and wash his face. He figured he could use the toilet after he has his pills because if he has to ask Arthur's help to get to the toilet and get off of it then he might as well steal Vash's gun and shoot himself.

A few minutes later he was eating up Shreddies while looking at Arthur. The Brit was highly entertaining. He was counting all of Francis's pills for the meal and putting it into a small box. His face was all scrunched up in concentration. Like a scientist trying to get his measurements right. When he seemed to have finished, he paused and started counting them again.

"You know Arthur, you look like you have OCD."

"Quiet."

"I finished eating."

"Quiet."

"Can I have my meds?"

"Qui-" Arthur stopped and looked at Francis before pushing the box towards him. "Here you go."

Francis drank his meds and stayed put for a few minutes and once he felt his pain reduce, he figured he could go to the toilet.

A harmless decision right?

Well there was a warning Arthur gave Francis two nights ago. A simple warning. One that Francis should have remembered but forgot for obvious reasons.

So when he opened the bathroom door and sat himself on the toilet he was stunned to hear sounds coming from behind the shower curtain. He slowly got up and went towards the curtain.

He swallowed thickly and carried a toothbrush for self protection before quickly drawing the curtain aside.

Arthur had just arranged the bed and was puffing up pillows when he heard the high pitched screams. He froze for a few seconds before panic set in. Did something happen to Francis?

He rushed over to the bathroom and tried to open the door only to realize that Francis had locked the door. Stupid Frog.

"Francis, are you all right?" he screamed but there was no response. Trying to open the door and failing. He figured that he could enter the bathroom from Felix's room. Rushing over to his roommate's bedroom he stopped when he saw the pink…well everything. He shook his head and set his eyes on the mission in hand. There is no time to waste. He walked over to the bathroom and pushed the door open and boy was he surprised when he saw what he saw.

Francis was crouching on the floor, caught up in prayers and onto his left in the tub were two aghast but blushing men who were…naked.

"Felix." Arthur said with a voice sharp enough to cut a diamond. "What have I told you about bathroom sex?"

Felix smiled in an effort to lower the tension. "Well…uhm…don't do it."

Arthur rolled his eyes and helped Francis up. The Frenchman looked at him before standing up.

"Are you hurt?" Arthur asked kindly.

Francis just stared at him before opening the door and leaving. Well he must be traumatized. Arthur turned and glared at Felix.

"I really hope there won't be a next time Felix." His voice had dropped a couple of octaves and made Felix swallow in fear before shaking his head and waving his hand.

"Of course not."

Arthur rolled his eyes and walked out. Yeah right.

He shut the door and turned to see Francis staring at the bed. Arthur silently walked over and held Francis's shoulder. "How about we go for a walk?"

Ten minutes later the two men were going for a walk, neither speaking a word. One was feeling awkward and the other just a bit traumatized.

They passed a few shops and then Arthur halted while looking up at a store. 'Glam N' Chic' the sign read out. It was then that he realized two things.

_Francis didn't have extra clothes. He was wearing the same outfit his mom had bought in a rush while at the hospital._

_And he had been going to the bathroom when…that happened. So he must have not done his…well you know._

Arthur pulled Francis along as he walked into the store. The Frenchman looked at Arthur quizzically but didn't say anything in protest.

After stopping a Store assistant and whispering something in her ear, Arthur pulled Francis a couple of aisles along and stopped in front of a door.

He turned and grinned.

"There you go, the bathroom."

Francis blinked before looking at Arthur with bewilderment. "Pardon?"

Arthur pointed at the bathroom and said with glee, "Well you wanted to go, right? When we were back at home?"

Francis stared at Arthur with disbelief. What was the man getti- Oh.

He smiled gratefully as he realized what Arthur was saying. "I-uh- Merci." He walked inside leaving Arthur standing outside the door alone. Which the Brit didn't really give a damn about. Francis needed clothes and he was going to buy him some.

He searched the aisles for the perfect shirts. He smiled as he picked a light blue cotton shirt. He looked at the brand, 'Hugo Boss.' He softly swore under his breath and kept the shirt back. He wasn't going to pay more than £50 on a fucking shirt. Ever.

He kept the shirt back and wondered down the aisles. His fingers ran over all the shirts trying to find a good one. His eyes shined as he pulled a plain white shirt out. £10. And when he read a card that was hanging around the shirt a grin lit up his face. This was brilliant. If he bought five shirts of the same brand he could get them all at £35. Cheap. He grinned as he pulled four more shirts and walked over to another aisle. Now only if he could find a few trousers and sweater vest for that same price.

And yes he did it. There was an offer on a few pairs of trousers. They were also from a brand which he had never heard of before but well it doesn't matter. Who knows, maybe the manufacturers of these clothes are poor but talented designers hoping for a big break. If that is so then Arthur Kirkland had just kick started their career in Fashion. Isn't that just great?

Feeling very generous he took two beige sweater vests.

"Bonjour!"

Arthur turned and smiled at Francis. "Hello!"

Francis walked over and looked at all the clothes Arthur was carrying. He took one of the white shirts and held it. After scanning it intently for a few seconds. He gave the shirt back.

"You know Mon Ami that shirt is slightly damaged. And the cotton is of inferior quality."

Arthur's eyes widened. How dare that boisterous Frenchman ridicule those hard working designers who aim to succeed in fashion? How dare he?

"And how do you know?"

Francis moved a step back when he saw the Brit look at him angrily. "Well, I did my major in fashion and worked as an assistant under James Armand from Louis Vuitton. He even promised to let me design my own line."

Arthur just stared. "You worked for Louis Vuitton?"

The Frenchman nodded feeling giddy. He then smiled at Arthur. "Hey do you know something?"

Arthur looked at him and then at the clothes he was carrying and said hmm.

"Imagine me with my own Fashion Line. I can see it. The Bonnefoy Fashion line. How amazing would that be?"

"Conceited much?" Arthur quipped half-heartedly.

Francis looked at Arthur and felt just a bit bad. He must have unknowingly hurt the man's feelings.

"Look Arthur, You can still wear those clothes if you want to."

Arthur turned and stared at Francis, "These are not for me. They are for you."

Francis laughed. "Nice joke, Arthur. I would never wear something so old-fashioned."

Arthur looked at the man and then glared at him. Dropping all the clothes in a pile. He clenched his fist and punched Francis. "Go to hell, you bloody wanker!"

Francis doubled over and held his abdomen. Merde. That hurt. He looked up at Arthur who was positively glowering.

"I was hunting around the aisles to get you some fucking clothes and that's how you treat me. You ridicule my sense of fashion."

Francis stood up. "C'est quoi ce bordel ? your sense of fashion? If you want to dress like you're from the 80's, go ahead but don't make me wear it. I mean a sweater vest in this climate? Tu es completement débile!"

Arthur pulled his sleeves back and walked forwards looking very, very angry. "Take that back, wanker."

Francis shook his head. "Non."

The sales assistant's eyes bulged when Arthur threw a punch. She was just about to rush to Francis's aid when she saw the blond punch back and then it began. The two men grappled on the floor, punching each other and kicking one another and… did Arthur just bite Francis?

"Mon Dieu! Did you just bite me?" Francis screamed.

Yes. Yes he-

"Hell yes, Fucking Twit." Arthur laughed.

-did.

Francis looked at Arthur with disbelief. The rest of the store looked on in fear and a bit of awe because Arthur was laughing like a crazy Serial killer but… he was sitting on top of Francis's abdomen, legs draped around the latter. And boy did they look hot.

Uhm.

Anyway , Francis shoved Arthur aside before standing up. That mad Brit. He better look out because he was going to get-

Merde.

The Frenchman nearly doubled over in pain. His hand which should have been safely kept in a sling was now free of the material and hurting. He breathed deeply before turning around and glaring at Arthur. This was entirely the imbecile's fault. Why did he have to pull Francis into a fight?

Arthur who was now chuckling looked up only to see Francis looking at him with a whole lot of anger. He stood up whilst straightening his suit and grinned.

"What happened now?"

Francis was two seconds away from giving the Brit a piece of his mind when a hand held his shoulder. He looked behind only to see a man with brown hair and olive skin glare at him with light brown eyes. Oh and he had a long gravity defying curl poking out of his bangs.

"Franceypants, you bloody moron! Why the hell are you fighting in a store you bastard!"

Francis looked on in shock but then looked up and opened his mouth to retort back when Arthur jumped in the middle.

"That is exactly what I think of him. The bloody wanker. So I am Arthur Kirkland." Arthur smiled graciously before handing out his hand in a sign of friendship only to be met with a-

"Do I look like I give a fuck? You creepy pervert. Anyway get the hell away from me." He turned to leave before stopping and looking at Francis.

"Just so we are clear. I am going to tell this to dad."

He walked out of the store leaving a confused Francis and a very much heartbroken Arthur. That hurt.

Francis looked at Arthur's quivering lips and dejected expression before sighing and holding his shoulder.

"It's okay. You will get over it, Mon ami." He said quite gently before leading Arthur out of the store only for Arthur to stop and walk right back in. The Frenchman rolled his eyes and sat on a nearby bench. What had gotten into that man this time?

He turned and looked at the people walking past him, searching for any familiar faces; Gilbert, Tony or at least Ludwig. But as his eyes travelled from one face to another, his hope slowly faded. He didn't know anyone of these people. He closed his eyes and thought about what happened over the last few days. He really couldn't remember much. He didn't remember the crash or anything that happened afterwards. The only thing he could recall was waking up in an unfamiliar room and seeing an unfamiliar face look at him with worried green eyes. And then everything that happened afterwards, he could remember that pretty well too. But why can't he remember anything that happened before the crash? Not even one single thing? Well everything before Gilbert's party doesn't count. He remembers most of that pretty well but what happened afterwards?

How did he feel when he got evicted from his apartment?

Did they go house hunting immediately after being kicked out or did they drink themselves to death and crash on Ludwig's living room for the night or did they end up homeless?

Did he get that fashion line he was promised?

If he did then how did it even look?

Francis tried to recall answers to all these questions but…none came. Not even a single memory or at least a fragment of his memory-a small incy wincy one-surfaced back to him.

"Are you catching a nap?"

Francis slowly opened his eyes and found himself smiling as he saw Arthur. "No. I was enjoying one of the few moments of peace I have when you are not around."

"Go to hell."

Francis stood up and turned to walk back to the apartment. He paused and looked behind when he realized that Arthur wasn't next to him. He found the man standing next to the bench.

"Are you not coming?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. I want to eat in a restaurant. Will you accompany me?"

Francis grinned causing his eyes to twinkle. "Of course. After all," he smirked at Arthur, "I can't let you wander the streets of Hetalia unsupervised. Do you know just how dangerous you are to the commu-"

"Oh, Shut up."

After that the two men had lunch at a small but cozy restaurant nearby and then went to the cinema afterwards. They spent a good five minutes quarrelling about which movie to watch, and in the end they chose the Hobbit part two. A good movie but Francis found himself nodding off in the middle of it. It wasn't boring. Oh no, far from it actually. But he was feeling tired and his eyelids just couldn't stay open anymore.

His head lulled to the left and his head fell on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur who was chuckling at Legolas unknowingly insult Gloin's family quickly turned to see what or who had hit his shoulder. His eyes which flashed quite dangerously at the sudden intrusion softened as he saw Francis's face. His eyes lay closed as he slept peacefully. Arthur smiled at the man and wiped a crease off his eye brow before balancing Francis's head on his shoulder and laying a hand softly on the blond silky tresses.

When the movie came to an end, Arthur gently woke Francis up and the two men headed home. Walking into the apartment, they found Felix preparing a soup of some sort. He offered them some but Francis refused, only to have Arthur forcibly make him sit down and glare him into drinking the soup. The Frenchman who was too tired to put up a fight just drank it all up and took the medicines afterwards and headed to bed. Arthur watched him go but as he turned to finish drinking his own soup, he quite couldn't shake the feeling that he was forgetting something. He just hoped it wasn't anything important. He prayed it wasn't anything important.

It was later that night when he was going through the bag of clothes he had bought that he remembered. And as realization dawned, Arthur felt his chest become heavy. What had he done? Oh god. Shit. How did he miss it?

He collapsed onto the couch and stared at the clothes. How did he miss it? How could he have?

He held his forehead and closed his eyes. That man in the shop, the one with that outrageous curl. He recognized him. He recognized Francis.

He might have been Francis's friend. Someone who the Frenchman had forgotten because of the amnesia thing. Maybe that's why Francis couldn't recognize him but it doesn't matter. It was clear. Plain as day, that he knew Francis. Where he lived, where his family was, where his friends were. He might have known all of that.

And Arthur…

… just let him go.

Oh God.

* * *

**A/N- Okay so sorry for the long delay and i am sorry if the chapter wasn't that good. i really tried. I promise. but do stay tuned. the other chapters would be better and watch out for the next one because you will get to know more about Arthur. **

**And all the followers and Favourite(rs?) thank you. Now only if the reviews could increase... anyway I hope i didn't disappoint you with the chapter. And i am sorry if i did. **

**Love you all and thanks for reading.**


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